Hatred
by Psychotype
Summary: All he can think about how he hates Louis and Bill and Zoey, because it was their fault they had to go die and leave Francis all alone; because they went and died and left this big stupid hole in his heart.


Francis hates everything now. He hates these new people. He hates this new place he's in. It was better by the East Coast. Everything was better in the East Coast. Of course, he hates the East Coast now as well. Because now the blood of. . . but he hates remembering, so he doesn't.

The Southern guy, the one named Ellis, starts rambling _another_ one of those stupid stories about his stupid friend named Keith. Francis hates Ellis. He hates Ellis's goofy smile and he hates the stories about Keith. The girl, the one named Rochelle, tells Ellis that it isn't the time for stories. Francis hates Rochelle. He hates her because Rochelle isn't anything like Zoey. But he hates thinking about Zoey, so he stops.

They're in a mall, which Francis hates. Coach, the fat one, is munching on a candy bar because they're stopping for a snack. They are sitting around a table at a ruined food court, the nearby Infected already cleared out. This group stops more often then his old one did, Francis notices. Coach offers Francis a bite of his chocolate bar, but Francis declines, because Francis hates chocolate. _Louis would have accepted, _Francis thinks. Louis loved chocolate. But Francis hates Louis now, so he shoves Louis out of his mind and tries to concentrate on something else. Like how much he hates the smell of the air here. And how much he hates the color on the walls. And how much he hates this entire goddamn mall, this entire goddamn state, hell, this entire goddamn _world_.

The uptight jerk with the white jacket keeps looking at Francis strangely. Francis doesn't even know what the jerk's name is. Francis doesn't ask because he knows the name isn't going to be "Bill" or "Louis". The jerk probably hates Francis for some reason, but Francis doesn't care because he hates the jerk too.

Rochelle. Ellis. Coach. Jerk. Francis hasn't known these guys for long. They met in the parking lot outside the mall. Francis wouldn't have stopped to greet them, except the motorcycle he had been riding to nowhere had broken down. Francis's plan had been to. . . well, Francis hadn't had a plan except to ride around aimlessly, because after what happened he didn't want to get himself caught up in a group again. But here he was. And he had the feeling that no one in this new group particularly wanted him there either.

"I hate this," Francis mutters to himself, but he's a little too loud and Ellis hears.

"Y'know what your problem is?" the Ellis kid asks in his Southern drawl. "You hate everythin'. I swear, I've heard you say you hate this mall and this city and CEDA and the military and crappy-motorcycle-parts and scientists and boomer puke and vampires. What do vampires have to do with this anyway?" Francis suddenly remembered how his old teammates would always remind him, "They're ZOMBIES, Francis!" But Francis hates to cry so he shoves that memory away. As soon as that memory is gone, though, another one pops up.

"Hey Francis, they have the latest issue of Hating Everything Magazine." God, Francis hates Zoey for not being here right now. Before Francis can dwell on it much longer, Coach speaks.

"Okay, guys, let's go," he says, slowly rising up and grabbing his shotgun. Francis gets up from his awkward sitting position as well. He has a Submachine Gun as his weapon, and he hates Submachine Guns, because Bill liked those best and Francis hates to be reminded of Bill or any of the old team. Because they aren't here right now. And it's because of him.

*

Francis hates Smokers because it was a Smoker that got Bill and started pulling him away from the rest of the team. Before Bill got snagged, the group had been fine; they didn't have many wounds and they were close to a safe house. When Bill got caught, though, everything quickly went to hell. Zoey called out and ran off to free Bill, and as she did a horde engulfed her. Francis and Louis lost sight of her as she was surrounded by the Infected.

"Zoey!" Louis had called, rushing off to protect her, and as he did a Hunter pounced him. "OH GOD GET THIS THING OF ME!" Louis screamed, trying to push the Hunter off of him. The only one left to save Louis, Bill, and Zoey was Francis. Francis hates pressure. He heard his teammates screams and felt as if he was in a bad dream- and Francis hates bad dreams.

He grabbed his auto-shotgun to help his teammates, but discovered that it was empty. In his panic, he dropped his ammo on the floor while trying to reload. It scattered in a thousand directions. Francis stood there for a second, stunned, and the only thing running through his head was _IhateSmokers IhateHunters Ihateallthesegoddamnvampires andIhatemyclumsyfingers andIhateeverything andeverything andeverything. _And he did really _try_ to save his teammates, whacking at the Infected with the butt of his auto-shotgun, but it all happened so fast- in a second, it was over, and Francis knew there was nothing he could do. He was in a team one second, and the next the people he had known for almost a month were dead. Just like that; no fanfare, no last words, just the end of the screams. There was nothing he could do about it. So, feeling like a coward, Francis ran, seeing visions in his head of Bill strangled to death, Zoey mauled by the horde, and Louis's chest scratched away.

What haunts him most of all is that it was his fault. Francis hates guilt and shame, the feelings he now has constantly.

*

"You know what this reminds me of?" Rochelle asks, snapping Francis out of his memories. No one asks her, "What?" but Rochelle continues anyway. "It reminds me of that movie. 'Dawn of the Dead'. You know, with the survivors, and the mall. Um, how did that movie end?" Rochelle does a half smile at Francis, maybe hoping that he'll laugh or smile back or say something. Francis instead stumbles down into a sitting position on a bench, putting his head between his hands and looking like a sad child in a grown biker's body. Francis can't take it anymore. He hates horror-movie references because that's what Zoey would say, but Zoey doesn't say them anymore because she's dead and it's all Francis's fault.

"Hey, Francis, are you okay? Is it your heart? Are you having chest pains? I had me some of those and _damn _do they hurt, I think it's from all the pills and shots we've been taking," Ellis says, still perfectly cheerful. Yeah, the problem is Francis's heart alright. All he can think about how he hates Louis and Bill and Zoey, because it was their fault they had to go die and leave Francis all alone; because they went and died and left this big stupid hole in his heart. And now Francis hates himself for being such a wimp as he starts crying into his hands in the middle of a mall in the middle of Savannah. Francis hates tears because they taste of salt, because they sting his face as they run down.

Zoey had once asked him, "Francis, is there anything you _don't_ hate?" Francis thinks, if someone asked him that question now, Francis would have to honestly respond "No."

* * *

**A/N- **Boy, that was depressing. I think I wrote that because I kinda miss the old survivors in L4D1, I liked them better then the new ones (although Ellis is pretty cool).

Note- I re-uploaded this because likes to mess with my stories, and it had deleted a part in the middle of this story. Hopefully it'll work now.

Please review, it makes my day and helps me write better stories next time.

Psychotype


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